


No Good Deed

by ownedbyacat



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ownedbyacat/pseuds/ownedbyacat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ty and Zane are being sent on a job to London.  Matters seem to go well, until one of Zane's good deeds is catching up with him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ty’s hand shot out to grab his partner’s belt and pull him back from the kerb before Zane could step into the path of a black taxi cab barrelling down Tower Hill.

“They drive on the left here, Garrett.”

Zane chuckled when he realised he’d looked the wrong way before trying to cross the road. Clearly, the jet lag was still doing a number on him while he was already distracted waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The call had come out of the blue, two days ago close to midnight. The voice on the other end of the line hadn’t been Assistant Director Burns, but Zane would have bet the Valkyrie that he was behind the job. Judging by the scowl, indistinct muttering and the fact that Ty had been creative with his packing, his partner had had the same idea.

It wasn’t one of their usual cases. Hell, it wasn’t even one of their unusual ones, though there was little for Zane to bitch about on the face of it.  A simple escort job to London, McCoy had told them, leaving Washington Thursday night and with a return flight booked for Monday evening as if London was cut off from the rest of the world each weekend.

“Four days in a foreign city, unarmed,” Ty had grunted as he hunted in the cupboard under the sink for duct tape and a roll of stiff wire to add to his duffel. “Sounds like a survival exercise.”

“Unarmed?”  Zane had always wanted to see London, but he’d not expected to do it quasi naked.

“Yep. He didn’t say anything about diplomatic immunity. And only specialist firearms units are allowed to carry guns over there. You have to hand over your service weapons at the airport,” Ty had explained, while he shoved a cut-throat razor into his toiletry bag. “And no carrying throwing knives, either.”

Zane, not being as creative as Ty when it came to deadly weapons, hadn’t liked that idea one single bit. But so far the whole operation had gone like clockwork. They’d collected their charge, a prisoner due to be extradited to the United Kingdom, from Washington, had boarded the overnight flight after the usual security checks and – after an eventless night where Ty had dozed and Zane had kept watch – had arrived at London Heathrow as scheduled and had handed their prisoner over. 

“Zane.”

Ty had a scowl on his face when Zane finally looked up, as if he’d been trying to attract his attention for some time.

“Sorry,” Zane offered softly. “I’m just… on edge I suppose.”

“Why? The job’s done, we’re in London, the weather is great and we have the whole weekend to ourselves.”

“It’s a Burns job, Ty. I’m just…” Zane waved a hand aimlessly.

“I know,” Ty replied and stepped close enough for Zane to feel Ty’s body heat against his back. “Do you want to go back to the hotel? Maybe some more sleep…”

Zane shook his head, though the idea of more sleep was appealing. As was the thought of Ty’s even breaths against his neck, grounding him.  But he wanted to see London. He had dragged Ty all the way to Tower Hill to see the famous fortress and the bridge. And there really wasn’t any reason for Zane to be so edgy.  The detectives meeting them at the airport had treated them like colleagues doing a job and had asked for just their service weapons before sending them off in a real London taxi cab to their hotel. The hotel was old style Victorian, quiet and peaceful even though it was right in the centre of London. The beds were soft, the service impeccable and Ty was right beside him.

And yet, Zane was twitchy. The back of his neck was tight and he had to make an effort not to reach for one of the knives he – officially – wasn’t wearing.

“Cocky bastard,” Ty chuckled suddenly and when Zane turned to look he didn’t have to search long to see what amused his partner.  A pickpocket was working the crowd and he was either new to the game or – as Ty seemed to think – a cocky bastard.

Just then, he casually lifted a handbag off a woman’s shoulder and slid back into the crowd of tourists without her being any the wiser. It was slickly done, but the kid clearly wasn’t expecting to be made.  He wrapped the shoulder strap around the bag while he walked and was about to slide it into the inside of his leather jacket when Zane casually stuck out a foot. The redhead went flying and Ty caught the handbag with a flourish as if he was catching in a ball game.  Applause erupted from the crowd along with a few threats and hisses towards the downed thief as Ty returned the handbag to its rightful owner. Zane had a boot planted in the kid’s back and was wondering what to do with him. They had absolutely no jurisdiction here and – from what he’d read – could actually get into trouble if they damaged the perp in any way.

“Trouble. Just like he warned us,” a gruff voice sounded from behind Zane’s right shoulder.

“Yeah. We shouldn’t have let them leave the airport.” A second voice replied from Zane’s left.

“Aidan will fry our asses if they get themselves arrested.” Right.

“I’m rather attached to my ass. Go sort it.” Left.

Zane caught sight of Ty’s gaze, fixed intently on something just behind Zane. Ty was noticeably tense. And too far away to make a difference when a burly man in jeans and a black leather jacket drew alongside Zane.

“Let me give you a hand with that, Agent Garrett,” the man drawled and reached down to grab the pickpocket’s collar and pull him upright. Cuffs snicked closed and the purse snatcher landed unceremoniously in the arms of one of the guards manning the Tower’s entrance.  “We’ve called it in. Just hang on to him for a bit, will you? I need to take these two for a walk.”

The guard nodded. “Will do.”

Zane considered the two men as Ty crossed the remaining distance to stand beside him.  At first glance, they looked like beauty and the beast: one sturdy and battle-scarred with close cropped hazel hair, the other dressed to kill, making the most of a trim figure, jet black hair and the most gorgeous violet eyes Zane had ever seen on anyone. At second glance, they looked competent and just short of outright dangerous. 

McCoy hadn’t said anything about babysitters, but if this was a Burns special, who knew what would crawl out of the woodwork?

Ty seemed to think along similar lines. He had yet to relax his stance and his glare was burning holes into the two Brits. “Who are you?”

With the flourish of a conjurer the dark haired man produced two cards and handed them over.  _Dwight & Conrad_ was embossed on the heavy, parchment-coloured card. _When the law needs a little help._

“I’m Skylar Payne,” he answered and waved at the leather clad man beside him. “And this is Rafael Gallant. We’re your …. backup … during your stay.”

“We don’t need babysitters.”

“No. Just a leash,” Gallant huffed and Skylar kicked him in the shin.

“Manners, Gallant.” The evil grin on Skylar’s face didn’t bode well. “You two are renowned for finding trouble,” he informed them gleefully. “We’re renowned for getting people out of it.”

“That’s peachy,” Zane drawled. “Though we’re just spending a weekend in London. We’re not _in_ trouble. And we’re not planning to find trouble.”

“You just happened to take down a pickpocket,” Skylar shot back. “What’s next? Bank robbery, kidnapping?”

“That wasn’t our fault!” Ty declared, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “Would you rather we’d let him escape?”

“It would have made for a quieter afternoon,” Skylar began, only to be interrupted by his partner.

“No. Cocky brat like that’s a disgrace to the whole profession.” Rafael Gallant’s voice held a surprising amount of anger. “He needs a lesson.”

“What’s he likely to get?” Ty enquired, curious despite himself.

Raf shrugged. “A couple of nights in a cell and a slap on the wrist, unless he has form. Might do him good. Or could be a waste of time.”

Zane hesitated. “Do you need us for statements?”

“No,” Ty interjected firmly. “I vote against any kind of paperwork.”

Raf Gallant smirked. “I so hear you, Agent Grady. And don’t worry. We have him on tape.”

“So we’re free to carry on?” Zane didn’t believe that for a moment. There had been no need for the two to make themselves known unless they wanted something.  And that something wasn’t short in coming.

“We would like to invite you on a private tour of the Tower of London,” Skylar explained with an angelic smile.

Ty snorted. “The sort where the doors suddenly blow shut and you tell us the key went missing three hundred years earlier?”

“Not at all.  We just thought you might like to see one of the world’s most famous castles without having to fight your way through crowds. You see, this,” Skylar waved his hand to include the two agents, the Tower and maybe all of London, “is all about paying a debt.”


	2. Chapter 2

"Sounds ominous," Ty muttered under his breath, noting the way Zane’s eyes narrowed even more. Tension was rolling off him in waves and Ty didn’t know how to make it better. Debts were never a good foundation for anything. Not even a visit to the world’s most famous fortress. Only now that he was here, standing outside the walls and looking up at the White Tower, Ty actually wanted to see the castle – and the option to do it away from the crowds was rather appealing.

"You wanted to see the Tower and the bridge," he reminded his partner quietly.

"I did," Zane sighed, studying the two Brits, as if he was trying to devise a way to get out of accepting their offer. "Just not like this."

"Gentlemen, let me assure you that there is no need to worry," Skylar reiterated in an exaggerated plummy accent. “Our employer would merely like to repay a debt he owes to Agent Garrett by doing his utmost to make your stay in London memorable."

"Lost keys," Ty muttered to Zane from the corner of his mouth, then he turned to face Skylar. “Did you have to take lessons to sound that prissy?"

"Hardly," the man waved a hand negligently. “I hang out in Hollywood a lot. Accents and attitude are free with your coffee."

"Hollywood?"

"Yes," Raf Gallant cut in, grinning. “Skylar’s a world-famous makeup artist, and he doesn’t let any of us forget it."

"Now you’ve lost me," Zane admitted. “You said you were the local law."

"Just this once, I won’t take that as an insult," Raf’s voice was deadly serious, but there was a distinct twinkle in the man’s blue eyes as he looked at the two FBI agents.

"But you really need to learn to read," Skylar admonished, “or even jetlag won’t be an excuse. We’re not the law. We step in when the law needs help… not the same thing at all."

"That’s all very fascinating, but can we get back to the debt thing?" Ty interrupted.

"Tour first," Skylar replied. “They’re waiting for us and we only have two hours before the locking up ceremony. And really," his voice turned pleading. “Consider it a treat. A very rare treat. Most people would bite my hand off if I offered it."

"We’re not most people," Ty said, but his determination was wavering. He knew about the ceremony of the keys, but he’d never thought he’d get a chance to see it. He turned his head to look at Zane and found his partner contemplating Tower Bridge. Lights were flashing at the entrance to the tall arches, stopping all traffic.

"They’re getting ready to open the bridge for a boat to pass through," Rafael Gallant explained. “Doesn’t happen that often. And there’s a fine view from the battlements."

Ty didn’t hear Zane’s sigh, but he saw his partner’s shoulders relax. And then Zane turned and joined them. “Fine," he said, defeat in his voice. “I’ve no idea what debt your boss thinks he owes me, and I really don’t want to… but… fine. Let’s go."

The gate guard saluted smartly as they passed through the barrier and Rafael led them right up the wall to watch the bridge. He hadn’t exaggerated, either: the view from up there was great, especially when Ty compared it to the press of people crowding the pavement below the walls.

When a tall ship under sail came into view and gracefully passed through the bridge, Ty saw genuine interest replace the frown on Zane’s face. Caught up in the event, they both reached for their cameras and snapped picture after picture, just like everyone else.

***

"Done with the bridge?" a voice enquired as the ship had passed, the bridge had closed and traffic resumed its endless stream once more.

Zane turned from his contemplation of the river to find a man in a black and red uniform stand beside their two escorts. He wore a neatly trimmed beard and a hat that wouldn’t have been out of place in a TV show. His ramrod straight stance proclaimed the professional soldier, just as the neat getup and mirror shine on his shoes. His eyes slid between the two FBI agents before he settled on Zane’s partner.

"You’re the Marine?" he addressed Ty.

In less than a heartbeat, Ty’s body was taut and angled to take an attack. “I am."

Zane stepped close, ready to intervene, but it quickly became apparent that there was no need for it.

"Stand down," the man said and held out a hand to Ty. “Lance Corporal Gleeson, Royal Marines. Welcome to the Tower of London."

Ty shook his hand and looked the uniform over critically. “That’s not Royal Marine issue," he said with a smile.

"Definitely not. The Yeoman Warders go back a lot longer than that." He held an arm out, inviting them all to follow him. “All the Warders are ex-servicemen with more than 20 years service under their belt," he told them as he led them deeper into the fortress. "It’s an honour to serve in the corps."

The man’s voice was soothing, his stories entertaining and Zane found in very quick order that he was enjoying the tour. The fortress was massive, and even without the history the Warder related Zane could picture what it might have looked and sounded like. The idea that they English kings kept lions and tigers here along with their treasure and their prisoners amused him and the ancient graffiti, scratched into the walls by prisoners long gone were oddly moving.

"The Tower’s very first prisoner actually escaped," the Warder said, when they stepped out of the White Tower, which impressed Zane’s logical mind with its sturdy construction and complete lack of all amenities, and walked towards the space where Anne Boleyn had been beheaded.

"That was before you lot were on duty, right?" Ty queried, smirking. He hadn’t stopped asking questions since the beginning of the tour and Zane derived as much enjoyment from watching Ty as he did from following the stories their guide was telling.

"Too right," the man replied, totally convincing, though he and Ty exchanged knowing grins. And soon the two had wandered off into discussing battle tactics from the English civil war.

***

They watched the skies over London darken, watched the city light up and finally joined a small group of people to witness the ancient fortress being secured for the night.

"You’re watching history, gentlemen," their guide said quietly as the guards came into view. “For 700 years, night after night without fail, the guards have secured the Tower. The Lord willing, we’ll be doing so for centuries to come."

Ty came to attention and a shiver washed over him when the guard detail passed him with measured steps, and it wasn’t because he was cold. He could feel Zane’s warmth right behind him and wondered if Zane was as affected by the ancient ceremony as he was, or if his background made him more susceptible to pomp and circumstance. But when he turned his head, the expression on Zane’s face told its own story and Ty was glad they’d been here to see this.

They followed their guide through the semi-darkness to the exit and neither spoke until they stood almost on the spot where they had accosted the pickpocket earlier in the day.

"Ok," Zane finally said. “We’ve done the tour. Can I have some answers now?"

Not knowing and not even having anything to go on had clearly bugged Zane and his voice betrayed as much. His temper was simmering on a short fuse and he was struggling to keep the lid on his annoyance. Ty stepped close and gently touched Zane’s arm, grateful when Skylar came straight to the point, and annoyed when the man couldn’t leave off the teasing. Teasing Zane when he was in this mood was like baiting a bear, an angry one.

"We’ve been asked to escort you from the Tower to a private club," he said, “where you’ll meet our employer for dinner."

Zane audibly ground his teeth, but managed to play along nevertheless. "And why would your employer want to have dinner with us?"

"Because Mr. Conrad has a daughter," Skylar replied.

"A beautiful, very headstrong daughter," Raf added from Ty’s other side. “Whose skill for finding trouble matches yours, Agent Garrett. And who would have been in very serious trouble without your help."

Zane stopped in the middle of Tower Bridge, confusion clear on his face as he searched his past for beautiful, headstrong women in trouble. Ty thought it adorable until Skylar ran a fingertip down Zane’s bicep in a way that made Ty bristle. The touch implied knowledge. Knowledge more intimate than Ty was comfortable with. He drew a breath to intervene when Zane’s confused frown disappeared and his eyes widened.

"Emily Conrad," he said hoarsely. His hand went to his arm to rub the same spot Skylar had just touched, tracing the long thin scar hidden by his shirt.

"Well done, Agent Garrett," Skylar smirked. “So glad you remembered."

"What did you do?" Ty asked, unable to hold back his curiosity. Zane looked shocked, shaken even. There had to be a story there.

"He saved her life."

"How?"

"Poker."

"What?"

"I won her in a game of poker," Zane explained absently, staring out at the dark expanse that was the River Thames and ignoring both Ty’s wide-eyed stare and the incredulous expressions on Skylar and Rafael’s faces.

"I was told you took a knife for her," Skylar finally managed.

"That was later."


	3. Chapter 3

And the bullet had come after that.

It felt as if Skylar's words had unlocked a door in Zane's mind. Memories came pouring out faster than Zane could process them. He leaned against the railing, feeling the smooth glass of a tumbler and the rough cloth cover of a poker table under his palms instead of cold metal. His mind took him back to a club in Miami where the music was loud and play heavy, where the air was sweltering hot and thick with smoke and perfume, where alcohol flowed like water and cocaine was cheap.

Zane had spent so much time in that club it felt more familiar than the place he called home, where he tried to sleep off the haze of alcohol and drugs a few hours each day while keeping a gun close and a knife closer. And standing on Tower Bridge, with Ty close by and traffic all around him, Zane remembered the night he had risked his hard-earned cover – and his life – for a total stranger.

Only back then, his life wasn't something he had worried about.

The night had started early and Zane had been pleasantly buzzed by the time Ortega had walked in. Zane despised the pimp. Not because of his trade – criminals were his daily bread after all – more because the man was useless at it. Zane didn't move in quite the same circles, but he kept hearing talk of girls getting away from Ortega again and again. That night, he was flaunting a new acquisition: petite, blond and very young. Very scared, too, but hiding it well.

Zane had an idea how these things were done and drugs in a drink and a stolen passport were usually in the mix somewhere. He listened to Ortega brag and preen while the man settled himself at the poker table and realised that this time, matters were different. The girl had been about to catch her plane home and Ortega's men had snatched her off the street. Whether Ortega wanted her for himself or for a wealthy client Zane didn't know, but the man clearly got off on the fact that the girl was feisty – and maybe too innocent to realise how much shit was coming her way. And just the thought had kindled rage inside Zane, when there had been nothing but ice and numbness for months.

"Zane? Are you with me?" Ty's concerned tone penetrated Zane's focus and he blinked a few times, before he reached up and rubbed at his temples.

"I'm fine," he assured. "Just... memories, so much stuff I didn't think I'd ever remember, you know?" He raised his head and glared at the purple-eyed fashion plate that was Skylar Payne. "I can smell the fucking perfume and it's all your fault," he accused.

"I'm sorry," Skylar replied and there was not even a hint of teasing in his tone. "Do you think you can meet with Aidan? It's obvious that we haven't got a clue what happened. And we can't help Emily unless we do."

Skylar's cock-sure attitude had vanished, convincing Zane that Aidan Conrad was more than just Skylar's employer. And Raf stood close behind his partner, eyes intent on Zane, but a hand on Skylar's arm. Both seemed genuinely worried that Zane would walk away, haunted by his memories. But Zane couldn't walk away. Not now when it sounded as if something had been left undone.

He caught Ty's gaze instead and the concern in his lover's hazel eyes calmed the torrent of memories. _The past is the past for a reason_ , Ty's voice sounded in his mind.  Zane would bite his tongue off before he admitted that Ty might be right, but he made a conscious effort to relax.  Miami was in the past and the past was done. Remembering could – would – be painful, but none of what happened then had any power over him now.

He found a reassuring smile for Ty and then turned to Skylar and nodded. "I'll meet with him."

***

Aidan Conrad looked nothing like his daughter, Zane noted with profound relief. She'd been slim, petite and pale-haired, while her father was a man to contend with, matching Zane in height and breadth. Aidan Conrad wore his dark hair long and tied at the nape of his neck. It looked oddly fitting teamed with his open-necked white shirt and tailored black slacks. What the man really needed, Zane thought irreverently, was an eye patch. Or top boots and a riding crop. He'd look simply splendid as a pirate.

"You're really a lawyer?" he asked once they'd shaken hands and finished the introductions.

"At times," Conrad replied and led Zane to a table where several jugs of Pimms had been set out.  Zane had no idea what Pimms was, but he could read the label and marvel at the mix of cucumbers, strawberries, orange slices and some green herb... mint maybe?... that made up more than half of the content of each jug.

Conrad reached for a glass and poured and before Zane could say a word he held a drink.

"It's ok," the lawyer offered. "I'm scheduled to fly tomorrow morning. No alcohol allowed."

"I see you've done your homework."

"It never pays to piss off your information source," Conrad shrugged and Zane recalled thinking something similar the night he'd played poker to win himself a girl.

One of his sources had been at the table that night, a man Zane had cultivated for weeks. And while the easiest solution might have been to kick Ortega and his bully boys to the kerb, make a mess and escape during the resulting brawl, Zane couldn't do that.  Too much had depended on the data the man could provide.

Zane had tried to ignore Ortega and his minions until the girl ended up in his lap, propelled there by a vicious backhand.  He'd steadied her effortlessly, buried his face in her hair while she struggled against him and his brain had supplied a workable plan as if he'd asked for it.

He'd run his hand over a tight, jeans-clad rear and had pulled out his best sneer. "How much do you want for her?"

Ortega had gaped at the sudden turn of events. His lip was bleeding where the girl had bitten him and his eyes blazed in fury. Fury that changed into confusion.  "Bitch is not for sale."

"Sure she is. She's not keen on your company, so I say she's mine." Zane buried his face in the long blond hair again, hissing quick instructions. "I know what," he hit the swagger full force and indicated the jumble of valuables on the table in front of him. "I'll play you for her. Winner takes all."

"How bad was it?" Aidan's voice pulled him back to the conversation at hand.

"For her?" Zane enquired just as softly. Then he shrugged one shoulder. "Ortega was about as nasty as they came. What has she told you?"

"Not a lot," Aidan admitted. "Took me three months to learn where she'd actually been." The man scrubbed a scarred hand across his face. "Still not sure how I stopped myself from having a shit fit when I heard. I mean I know she can kick ass, but Miami - Jesus Christ!"

He gulped his drink as if it actually contained something that could calm his nerves.

"Took a couple months more until she told me about you."

Zane rubbed his neck uncomfortably, wondering yet again what Emily had told her father. His own recollections were... holey... and that was putting it mildly.  "What is it you want from me, Mr. Conrad?"

"Aidan," the man insisted gruffly. "And as for what I want.... I was hoping you and your partner would agree to come to lunch on Sunday." He set his glass down and straightened. "Because after all this time... she still wakes up screaming."


End file.
